


Love/Hate Heartbreak

by LadyFogg



Series: Constantine Oneshots & Prompts [4]
Category: Constantine (Comic), Constantine (TV), Hellblazer
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingering, Hand Jobs, Language, Ritual Sex, Sex, Smut, Treasure Hunting, Tumblr Prompt, Vaginal Fingering, so much sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7269796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFogg/pseuds/LadyFogg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re on the hunt for an ancient dagger that will fetch a hefty price when who should show up but John Constantine. You have no choice but to work with him and it’s going to take all your willpower not to murder him before you get what you’re after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love/Hate Heartbreak

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #4, I’m combining two prompts into one fic:
> 
> 1) i was wondering if you could write something about the reader (who maybe could be a sort of magician too) meeting John during one of her case and well, consensual sex magic involved happens?
> 
> 2) If you're still accepting prompts how about one as the Reader as a rival and a very no nonsense hunter type, Hellboy sass levels, makes her own bullets customized with rune engravings and infused with materials for the monster in mind, so every fight is like Raiders of the Lost Ark, in that she just shoots the fuckers, proceeding to enjoy her damn day, and the lack of style and hyper efficiency irritates him, because he's John Constantine and style is 9/10s of his existence.
> 
> Also I may or may not have been inspired by this fic after watching The Mummy. 
> 
> Fic Song - https://play.spotify.com/track/0cyfmacMRnFB2uxyv0nnzw

 

You don’t really like to consider yourself a demon hunter. You prefer adventurer. Well, okay, that’s a lie. You are a hunter, but more of the treasure kind. It just so happens in your line of work you come across many unsavory things. As such, you’ve learned to defend yourself against all manner of creatures. You’ve traveled the globe more times than you can count, searching for magical artifacts that will fetch you a hefty price to the right buyer.

Which is how you wind up on your way to a tomb of some ancient pharaoh, searching for his most prized possession. It’s also how you find yourself in an Egyptian prison. Man, flirt with the son of an ambassador and give him a handy in his father’s office and suddenly you’re “disrespectful” and a “siren”. You’ve met sirens and you take that as a compliment.

Eventually you know your country’s embassy will send for you. Until then, you wait. And defend yourself from any prison attacks. That’s why, when they say you have a visitor, you’re expecting a government official.

Instead, John Constantine sits in the seat across the table.

You groan. “What are _you_ doing here?” you ask as the guards manhandle you into your seat. They handcuff you to the table as John smirks, twirling an embassy badge between his fingers.

“Here to discuss the terms of your incarceration, love,” he says.

Frowning, you study him closely. As he lowers the badge to slip it into the pocket of his trenchcoat, you notice it’s actually a playing card. Catching on to the con he’s pulling, you fall silent.

“Give us a moment, gents,” John says to the security detail. They bow respectfully, which makes you snort with amusement. John Constantine is the last person they should be bowing to.

“To what do I owe this impromptu and unwelcomed visit?” you ask.

John fishes a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket. “Hello to you too,” he says, popping the stick into his mouth.

“Hi,” you say in a deadpanned voice, watching him light the end. “What do you want?”

John regards you with an amused expression, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Heard you were stuck. Was in the neighborhood and thought I’d lend you a hand,” he says with a large smile.

There are so many things wrong with that statement all you can do his glare at him. “Bullshit,” you say. “You’re here for the dagger, and you need me to help you get it.”

“You got me, love,” John says. “I have half the map. I assume since you’re here, you have the other half.”

“Good assumption,” you say, leaning forward on the table. “Honestly, Constantine, you should be a detective. Your insight is astonishing! How do you do it?”

“Look, I know you’re still bitter about that last job we worked--”

“You mean the job I planned for a year that you drunkenly stumbled upon and ruined?” you ask with a glare. “The job and corresponding cover I worked for almost a year on? You mean that job?”

“That’s over simplifying things just a bit,” he says, sending ash onto the floor with a flick of his wrist.

“Making things complicated is your job, not mine,” you snap. “What’s it going to take for you to leave me alone?”

“Easy, love,” John says. “Tell me where the rest of the map is.”

Eyeing him carefully, you weigh your options. You can sit in prison, waiting to get out through the proper channels while John Constantine pokes around yet another job that’s yours, or you can bite the bullet and give him what he wants. See if he’ll be willing to return the favor. You lean forward, handcuffs rattling.

“You really want to know where the map is?” you ask.

John copies your movements, extinguishing the cigarette on the table. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” he says.

You glance towards the door to see the guards watching closely. You motion for John to lean in further, as if you plan to tell him a secret. When he follows through however, you grab his tie and yank him forward so his forehead smacks the table. “Then get me the fuck out of here!”

“Fuckin’ hell!”

The guards are on you in a second, dragging you away from the room. You refuse to break John’s gaze. “Do it, Constantine!”

He’s clutching his head and glaring at you, but you already know what his answer is going to be. You can tell by the small twitch of a smile that appears just before the guards drag you away.

Twenty-four hours later, they announce you’re being released.

John is leaning against the hood of a rental car when you step outside, smoking and twirling his lighter between his fingers. You sling your jacket over your shoulder and take a deep breath before walking over to meet him.

“Thanks for that,” you say. “You must really want that dagger.”

“As do you,” John says, flicking his cigarette to the side. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have asked for my help.”

“Ask implies I care about your feelings,” you say, tossing your jacket into the backseat. “I demanded. Very different tone and levels of aggression.”

John walks around to the driver’s seat while you climb into the passenger’s. “Alright, where to?” he asks. “I doubt the map was in your possession when you were incarcerated.”

“Have a place about twenty minutes from here,” you say, putting your seatbelt on. “We go there. Regroup, then hit the tomb. Will have to sneak in after dark when the excavation crew is gone.”

“No need to wait,” John says, turning on the car. “Got a way we can waltz right in.”

“You mean con your way in?” you snort. “No. Night is better. Take out the security and not have to worry about keeping your lies straight.”

“Ever hear that story of the hammer that thought everything was a nail?” John asks, driving away from the prison.

“Nope,” you say. “Ever hear that story about that annoying mage who got punched in the dick?”

“That one escapes me.”

“Keep talking. I’d be more than happy to act it out for you.”

John only chuckles and shoots you a grin. You don’t return it.

When you started this line of work, your main goal was simple. Stay alive, no matter the cost. Working with John Constantine makes that goal nearly impossible to achieve. Not to mention his arrogance and flashy spell casting gets on your damn nerves. You’d much rather shoot your way out of a situation than waste time talking or waving your arms around.

You give him directions to your place and a few minutes later he parks the car on the curb outside your apartment. It’s a tiny place, perfect for you to sleep since that’s all you need it for. However, as soon you step into the room and John closes the door behind him, you know something is wrong. Your stuff has been touched. You’re a neat person by nature, and the main reason is for this exact scenario. Things go in a certain place. So if they are touched or moved, you know right away.

“Alright, love,” John says, watching you cross to the window. “Since you’re so keen on being stealthy, we’ll have a little kip and head for the site tonight.”

Outside, you see several men get out of an unmarked van. “Yeah, something tells me we don’t have that much time,” you say. You jerk away from the window and pull an empty duffle bag out from under your bed. “Here, throw everything in the drawers into this. We gotta go, now!”

John catches the bag. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“We’ve got company,” you explain, hurrying to your closet. “Bad kind.”

Mercifully, John does not argue. He shoves your clothes into the bag while you yank out the loose panel in your closet. Your weapons pack is still there and you hoist the strap over your shoulder. Outside your door, you hear footsteps and a clicking sound.

“Get down!” You dive at John, knocking him to the floor as bullets start to fly.

“Bloody hell!” John swears, covering his head.

“Fire escape,” you yell over the gunfire. “MOVE!”

You and John crawl across the floor towards your one means of escape. The assailants start to bang on the door, trying to kick it in. The bullets stop for a second and you tug on John’s sleeve. “Now!”

You both make a beeline for the window. You push it open and urge John through first.

“Wait, the map! We need the soddin’ map!” John exclaims.

“I don’t have the map!” you yell, shoving him onto the fire escape. “It’s all in my head!”

“Well that’s bleedin’ comforting, innit?”

You hear the door fly open just as you get one leg out the window. Bullets start to fly again and John pulls you through the rest of the way.

“The chord!” you tell him, motioning to the white string hanging in front of him. “Pull it!” John does as you say and you grab his hand. “Now, jump!”

“What the fucking hell are you on about?!” he bellows, but you tug him over the railing and onto the dumpster in the street below. Thankfully, it’s closed, though the landing is painful. The explosion from your apartment would have been worse.

“There goes my deposit,” you groan, rolling off the dumpster.

“Bloody insane, you are!” John snaps.

“Pot calling the kettle black!” you say, struggling to remain standing.

You both limp to John’s car, but when you get there, shots start firing your way again. Seems not everyone who’s chasing you is dead. Pity.

“Ditch the car,” you tell John. “Get on the bus. We can lose them in the crowd.”

“Not without my bag!” John dives into the backseat and you have to duck to avoid more bullets.

He manages to grab his bag and your jacket before you both book it to a nearby bus. As you suspected, the shooters are only after you and John and have no intention of firing into a crowd. The bus is full of civilians and the shooters have no choice but to watch you ride away. You wish you could relax, but the bus is so packed with people, you find yourself nearly nose-to-nose with John.

“Somehow I know this your fault,” you glare.

John gives you an incredulous look. “How is it my fault?” he asks. “It was your home they were watchin’.”

“Five months I’ve been here and not a single problem,” you say. “Then John fucking Constantine shows up and I get shot.”

“Oh come off it!” John argues. “You call being in prison not a--wait, you hit, love?”

Yeah, you’re hit. Left calf.

“It’s fine, I’ve had worse,” you say, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. “Let’s find a hotel so I can change my…” you pause, noticing only one bag in his hand. “Mother fucker, did you leave my clothes?”

He holds up your jacket. “This count?”

You snatch it away. “Un-fucking-believable.”

“I was being shot at and was forced to jump off a bloody fire escape!” he exclaims defensively. “S’cuse me for losing track of _your_ clothes.”

You open your mouth to swear at him some more when your world spins and you sway dangerously. John catches you with one arm around your waist.

“Whoa, I’ve got you, love,” he says.

A few people move and you both manage to squeeze into a seat together. Your leg is on fire and you grit your teeth against the pain.

“Fuck that hurts.”

“Have to get you someplace safe so we can take a look,” John says, glancing out the window. “Hotel a little ways ahead. Come on, up you get.”

With John’s help you hobble off the bus at its next stop. The hotel is kind of rundown, but the room you’re given is clean and air conditioned.

“Really, Constantine? One room and one bed?” you say as John helps you over to the bed. You drop your bag on the floor before collapsing onto the soft mattress.

“Oy! Give me a soddin’ break!” John snaps, dumping his bag onto the armchair shoved into the corner. “This is all I can afford. Barely have any money left for supplies.”

You reach into your pocket and pull out a wad of cash, chucking it at him. “Food, meds and clothes,” you list and then promptly collapse onto your back.

John shoves the money into his pocket and shoots you a nod. “Aye, I’ll be back. Don’t bleed out on the bed.”

You flip him off as he leaves. Once he’s gone, you force yourself to sit up. You drop your jacket as well while you kick out of your shoes. Pain is spreading up your calf to the rest of your leg so you rip off the bottom portion of you jeans to examine the bullet wound. It’s not as bad as you thought it would be. You tie the torn pant leg around it, trying to stop the bleeding until John can remove the bullet and hopefully stitch you up.

You lean against the pillows and close your eyes. The next thing you know, the hotel door slams and your name is shouted.

“Ah! What?! What happened?!” you exclaim, bolting upright.

“Bloody hell, woman,” John says, dropping the shopping bags at your feet. “Nearly gave me a heart attack. Thought you were a goner.”

“Must have dozed off,” you say, rubbing your tired eyes.

John disappears into the bathroom for a second, only to come back with two towels. You lift your leg so he can place one under it. When that’s taken care of, he sits on the edge of the bed and pulls out a first aid kit, tweezers and a sewing kit from one of the shopping bags.

“These are all I could find,” he says, taking off his coat. “Is the bullet deep?”

“No, you can see it. Tweezers should work,” you say, adjusting yourself into a more comfortable position.

John rolls his sleeves up and grabs a bottle of gin out of the same bag.

“Thank god!” you say, grabbing it from him.

John chuckles, gingerly undoing the make-shift tourniquet from your leg. “That was mostly to clean out the wound,” he says. “And for me after.”

You blanch at the alcohol’s taste, but the warmth it spreads down to your belly is worth it. You hand the bottle back to John and take a deep breath. “Alright, do it.”

He also takes a swig before picking up the second towel and wetting it with the gin, but not before he pours a sizeable amount onto your wound, making the pain grow exponentially. The next few minutes are fucking painful. You bury your face into one of the pillows to keep from crying out as John gets to work removing the bullet. Your shoulders sag with relief when he finally manages it, but tense again when he starts to stitch your wound closed. You don’t reemerge until you feel a hand on your shoulder.

You look down to see a bloody towel but no more bullet wound. Just a small row of neat stitches.

“Talk to me,” John says in a careful voice. “How are you doing, love?”

“Fucking peachy,” you grumble, yanking the gin bottle from him. “No clothes, no home, hole in my leg. Other than that, perfect.” You take another gulp of the burning liquid.

John rolls his eyes at your tone, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out another cigarette and pops it into his mouth. “You seem your normal, chipper self,” he mutters.

“Fuck off, I’m in pain,” you say, slowly getting to your feet. You shove the bottle back into his hand. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Need some help in there?” John smirks around his cigarette, lighting the end.

“I’d rather get shot again,” you toss over your shoulder, limping towards the bathroom. You slam the bathroom door behind you before he has a chance to respond.

You wish you knew exactly what it is about John Constantine that rubs you the wrong way. It’s been like this since the day you first met. There’s something about him that makes you want to punch him in the mouth. The shower is barely lukewarm, but you actually don’t mind because you feel hot and gross. You take your time scrubbing away the blood and sweat, trying to ignore the fact you just lost your home and half your possessions.

When you’re done, you wrap a towel around yourself and leave the bathroom in search of clothing. John is lounging in bed, smoking. A wrinkled piece of parchment is spread out across his lap. There’s a bag next to him that looks like it has clothes so you swipe it.

Slim pickings it seems. A pair of jeans, some loose shorts and a couple of tank tops that look to be slightly too big. You do appreciate the package of underwear however.

“Thanks,” you say begrudgingly. “For everything.”

“Wow,” John says. “Two ‘thank yous’ in one day? That must have been so difficult for you.”

You make a disgusted noise and grab the shorts and one of the tops. You return to the bathroom to get dressed. He’s in the same spot when you emerge a few minutes later.

“Well, we’ve lost the element of surprise,” John says, putting the parchment into his pocket. “And they know our faces. So we’re going to have to go with your plan.” He doesn’t look happy with the admission.

“Cheer up, Constantine,” you say, heading for the food he’s laid out on the dresser. “We were going to do my plan anyways.” He rolls his eyes while taking the last drag of his cigarette. You grab a bottle of orange juice and a packaged pastry.

“How’s the leg?”

“Hurts like a bitch, but I’ll live,” you assure him.

“Well, we both should get some sleep,” he says, extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand.

You take a gulp of juice before responding. “And what do you suppose we do about the sleeping arrangements?” you ask.

John smirks, stroking the spot next to him. “Well, I prefer the right side, but I’m willing to trade if you’d like,” he says. “I can go both ways.”

“Oh I bet you can.” You take a bite of your pastry. “Or,” you continue, voice muffled. “I get the whole bed and you get the floor.”

John sighs heavily as he swings his legs over the edge. “Fine, if that’s what you’re comfortable with,” he says. “M’gonna shower.” He makes it a point to pat his pocket with the map. “Don’t think you can go skipping out on me.”

You watch him disappear into the bathroom as you finish your food. He doesn’t have anything to worry about; you’re not stupid enough to try to steal from Constantine. Especially when you’re so tired you can barely see straight and you can’t walk without limping. You finish your drink and cross to the closet. There is a pillow and blanket on the shelf, both of which you toss to the floor for John. After, you crawl into bed, hoisting your large pack onto it.

Your weapons are all intact, which makes you sigh with relief. You take some time to check each one. Everything is accounted for and you feel a little bit better about your situation.

John steps out of the bathroom some time later, hair wet and a towel secured around his waist. He pauses when he sees your weapons. “Are we going into battle?” he asks, standing by your side.

“Always,” you say, examining one of your pistols. You cast him a sideways glance. “You going to get dressed?”

You hear the towel fall and let out a sigh of frustration. Fighting your natural instinct to curiously look at his junk, you glare up at him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, love,” John smirks. “Didn’t mean to distract you.”

“The only thing you do is annoy the shit out of me,” you tell him. “Once again, are you going to get dressed?”

“I prefer to sleep in the nude,” he says. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”

You wave him away. “Whatever,” you say.

You put your pistol in the bedside table so it’s in reach just in case you receive anymore unexpected visitors. John lights up again before dropping on the floor with a heavy sigh. You carefully put your weapons away and slide them under the bed. The light goes off while you settle against the pillows. The room is fairly dark and all you can see is the cherry from John’s cigarette.

“Can I ask you a question?” you throw out.

John is quiet for a moment and you assume he’s taking a drag. “Go for it.”

“Why magic?” you ask. “It’s so unpredictable and dangerous.”

John chuckles. “Maybe that’s why,” he says. “I live to be unpredictable and dangerous.”

Oh good, humor instead of a genuine response. You give a frustrated sigh. “Fine, don’t answer.”

You fall silent and turn onto your side so your back is to John, shifting around to try get comfortable. Awkward silence fall over you both. With all the running and being shot at, plus a soft bed, sleep comes quickly.

You awaken a few hours later, groggy and disoriented. At first, you’re not sure why, until you realize you can hear John tossing and turning. Maybe it’s the drowsiness, or the blood loss, but you feel bad that you made him sleep on the hard floor.

“Shit,” you mutter. “Constantine? You awake?”

“Aye,” he says almost instantly. He sounds frustrated and tired.

“I’m going to regret this probably,” you sigh. “But, we can share the bed.”

John wastes no time. He gets to his feet with a groan and you wince when you hear his joints crack. You watch his shadow cross to the foot of the bed and then the mattress dips as he collapses next to you.

“Ta,” he mutters, face buried in the pillow.

“Don’t mention it,” you say, getting comfortable again. “Seriously, don’t. Anyone finds out and I’ll kill you.”

“I would expect nothing less,” he says. “And for the record, to answer your question from earlier, I needed to escape.”

You have no response, though you don’t suspect John is expecting one. You both settle in for sleep.

The next time you wake, sunlight is streaming in through the cracks in the blinds. You’re curled onto your side, an arm thrown across your waist and a nose buried in your hair. John’s steady breath tickles your skin, making you shudder slightly. How long have you two been this way? Your back is flush against his chest and you’re ashamed to admit that it doesn’t feel terrible. You almost consider going back to sleep until you feel his morning erection nudge your ass. Then you remember he’s completely naked. You shove his arm off and push him away.

“Wasat-s’goin’ on?” John wakes and grumbles.

“Your dick was touching me,” you say.

John shoots you a sleepy smirk. “Was just bein’ friendly, pet,” he slurs, draping himself onto your chest so his face is buried in your neck. “You two wanna get acquainted, more than happy to arrange it.”

“Arrange your penis off of me,” you tell him, trying to wiggle so there’s some distance between you two. This proves impossible as he throws his leg over yours, effectively trapping you. Thankfully, he shifts his hips so his cock isn’t touching your thigh.

“There, now...more sleep,” he mutters. He’s out before you can protest.

Well, you can’t do anything until nightfall anyways, and you could use the extra rest to get your strength back up. The leg that was shot doesn’t hurt too bad; merely a dull throb instead of a burning pain. You worm your arm out from under John and let your hand rest on his hip.

“You frustrating ass,” you mumble, readjusting the blanket. This is the first time you’ve been close to him and he doesn’t reek of cigarettes. It’s nice. You fall back into a dreamless sleep.

Hours later, you drag your eyes open to find you’ve become the big spoon. It makes you disappointed with your unconscious self. Taking a second to fully wake up, you draw back with a stretch, feeling more rested than you have felt in a long time.

“It’s worth noting, pet, that I tried to get up and you were not having it,” John says, rolling over to face you. A second later he’s on the floor, letting out an indignant, “Oy!”

You can’t help the smirk on your face as you stretch out across the bed. “We should have enough time to check out and grab a proper meal before making the trek to the site.”

“Aye, we’ll need a new vehicle,” John reminds you, getting to his feet.

Once again, you’re made aware that he’s nude. This time, you can’t stop yourself from looking. Even though he’s not hard, he’s still an impressive sight. His cock is long and framed by blond curls. The sight alone reminds you how long it’s been since your last sexual encounter and you can’t help but feel flush. Of course, this is John Constantine, the last person you should get into bed with.

“I s’pose we can try to retrieve my rental, but they probably are watching it,” he continues, oblivious to your wandering eye.

You catch yourself and tear your gaze away as you sit up. “We’ll get a new car,” you conclude. “And for the love of god, put your damn clothes on!”

\---

It takes a long time to secure a new means of transportation, and even longer to get to the excavation site. Once you find a secluded area to hide the car, you open the trunk and go through your pack, securing pistols to your body.

“You know, those won’t really help if we cross anything mystical,” John says around his cigarette.

You toss him a bullet, which he easily catches. “Depends on what we come across,” you say. “Those are good against the undead. Each has a special rune engraved on them and have been charged.”

“And what do you do when you run out of bullets?” John questions.

You shrug, holstering your last pistol. “Find something big to hit them with and run like hell,” you say. You reach for your grenade belt, but John stops you.

“No explosives,” he says. “Not after yesterday.”

“Oh, you mean when I saved our lives?” you say. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Look, love, I have to insist,” John says, shrugging out of his trenchcoat. “One wrong throw and it’s curtains for us both. Don’t know ‘bout you, but I’d rather not get blown to bits or buried alive.” He tucks his coat safely into the trunk of the car.

“You just want to suck all the fun out of everything,” you grumble, leaving the belt.

“Aw, don’t pout, sunshine,” John says, dropping his cigarette into the sand. “It almost makes you endearing.”

“Oh blow me,” you snap, glaring at him.

John raises an eyebrow with a large smirk. “Been waiting a long time for you to offer,” he purrs. “But now isn’t the best time. Rain check?”

You snort, closing the trunk. “You wish you could handle me, asshat.”

“Very much so,” John says, following you towards your destination. “Roughly...thoroughly...for hours.”

Your cheeks warm at the admission, not because you don’t know he’s attracted to you, but because for the first time since you've met him, you’re actually considering it. The image of him standing naked by your bed pops into your mind, and you have to force yourself to think about something else.

“Keep it in your pants,” you tell him, eyes scanning the area for signs of trouble. “We’ve got work to do.”

You both stop talking and take point behind a bulldozer. From your position, you can see two men in the security booth. They don’t seems to be getting ready to do rounds or anything. In fact, they’re just lounging in their seats. It makes you worried.

“Is it just me, or are they not moving?” you whisper to John.

The moon has barely risen, so light wise there isn’t much to help you see. His expression is difficult to decipher, but his lack of answer says it all. Silently, the two of you creep to the booth and peek inside. Both guards are dead.

“Shit,” you swear. “Those men chasing us must be here already.”

“So it would seem,” John says, straightening his stance.

You draw out two pistols and when John clears his throat, you cast him a raised eyebrow. “Need a cough drop?”

He sighs and pointedly extends his hand.

“Have you ever used a gun before?” you ask, handing him one of the weapons.

His mouth is set in a straight line as he checks the chamber. “Yes.”

The word is so sharp, it takes you by surprise. You want to question him, but now isn’t the time. Guns at the ready, you and John head for the entrance to the tomb. No one is standing guard, which doesn’t make sense. Whoever attacked you made it a point to watch your apartment, but not the entrance?

“I don’t like this,” you mutter, leading John down the steps into the darkness.

“Neither do I,” John agrees. “Stay sharp. Either there’s a nasty surprise waiting for us…”

“Or?”

“Or, they know something we don’t,” John finishes.

“Between the both of us I think we can navigate this place without setting off traps,” you say. “Or at the very least, we’re smart enough to get through any traps.”

“That could almost be a compliment,” John says.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you tell him. “I was referring to my own ability to save your ass.”

“Just you thinking about my arse is enough of a compliment,” John responds.

“Stop talking. Like, immediately.”

The steps end in a long hallway and you have no choice but to follow it. The walls are lined with torches, which have all been lit. You strain your ears and realize you can hear voices up ahead. John catches your eye and raises his gun. You follow his lead. Steps slow and steady, you and John ease your way down the hall, alert for any signs of trouble. When you reach the end, it splits in opposite directions.

“Where’s your map?” you ask in a low voice.

John draws the parchment out of his pocket. “According to this, the burial chamber should be down this hall.” He points to the right.

“Then why are the voices coming from the left?” you ask.

“Blighters probably don’t know where to go,” John says, folding the map.

You ignore him and head towards the noise. John hisses your name, but you keep walking. You hear him swear and hurry after you.

“What in blazes are you doing, you daft bat?” he demands.

“They get here first, but don’t go after the dagger?” you ask. “They must be looking for something else.”

“What does it matter?”

“Because if I didn’t get shot over the dagger, I deserve to know what I was shot over,” you say. “You don’t want to know, go on ahead. I’ll catch up to where your map ends.”

“You don’t even know where to go after that right. Also, I’m not leaving you on your own in here,” John says.

“Then shut up and follow me.”

The hall ends in a curve which opens into a small chamber. You and John stand pressed to the wall, listening. When you peek around the corner, you can see two men moving rocks. It looks like they are trying to clear a caved in passage.

“Hurry up!” one man says gruffly. “We weren’t able to secure Constantine and his friend. They can show up any minute.”

“Relax, the Guardians will take care of them,” the other says. “Plus, Constantine is following a woman. What does she know?”

Great, barely into the tomb and you’ve already learned two things. One, the men obviously were after John, which you will berate him for later and two, those two men are assholes. You raise your gun and take a step forward, but John holds you back.

“You sure this is the way to the book?” the first man asks.

“No! Don’t have the fucking map, remember? I think it’s this way though.”

You hear John chanting under his breath and you cast him a curious look. When you realize he’s spellcasting, you get a little nervous. You and magic don’t really mix. It always seems to go wrong where you’re there to experience it. Suddenly, the men start to shout as thousands of bugs start to swarm out of the hole. They aren’t very large bugs and clearly aren’t after the men. It’s enough to make them scared shitless however. You can’t help but grin at John. Unfortunately, your grin fades as a figure steps out from the wall behind him. Your pistol is raised and firing at it before you can even blink. John ducks with a shout.

“What the-?”

“Who’s there?!”

John grabs your hand. “Time to go,” he says, pulling you back the way you came. The walls start to crumble as more of those skeletal beings appear.

You yank your hand from John’s. “Your fault!” you shout. “Your fault! Your fault! Had to use magic, didn’t you?!”

“Oy! NOT THE TIME!” John wheezes.

“I hate you!” you snap. “I want to stab you in the face!”

“That’s all well and good. We can discuss it when we’re not running for our lives!”

You pass the intersection and take the path towards the burial chamber. Behind you, about five or six Guardians are still on your tail. The others seem to have doubled back for the other intruders. Good. John takes a second to stop and shoots one of your pursuers. The bullet hits the being in the throat, but does nothing to slow it down.

“I thought you said these were enchanted!” John shouts, stumbling backwards.

You turn and raise your gun, taking out each of the creatures with one hit to the head. “Mine are,” you pant. “I have limited rune bullets. Why would I trust you with them?”

“Because we’re in danger, you bloody lunatic!” John exclaims. “One of these days you will have to trust me.”

“Probably not. Keep telling yourself that though,” you say.

John mutters under his breath as he angrily shoves the gun into his belt and pulls his map back out of his pocket. “Bloody infuriating woman.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you wave him off. “What does the map say, Blondie?”

John studies the parchment. “Down this hall, take a right, then left,” he says. “Then that’s it. Map cuts off.”

“I can take it from there,” you say.

“Oh, this should be good,” John snorts, tucking the parchment away once more.

“When this is done, if I ever see your face again, I will shoot you,” you promise. “Also, just because we’re working together doesn’t mean I’m giving you the dagger.”

“What do you plan to do with it?” John asks.

“Sell it, of course,” you say.

“Believe it for not, our goals are one in the same,” John admits. “I say we split the earnings and be on our merry way.”

“Fine,” you say. “Whatever makes you disappear.”

“Oh, you’ll miss me,” he grins.

“Time to play the quiet game again.”

The next few minutes pass in silence as you follow the paths John’s map lays out for you. When he comes to a stop, you know it’s your turn to pick up the slack.

“Give me a second,” you say, studying the directions you can take. After a few seconds, you close your eyes, trying to mentally picture the map you saw nearly a month ago.

“Don’t think those guardians or bugs slowed those gents down much,” John says. “May still be after us.”

“Don’t rush me.”

“Where did you see the other half of the map anyways?” John asks.

“It was purchased at an auction from a very prestigious ambassador and I just happen to find my way into the ambassador’s office,” you smirk at the memory. “Had some time to study it while I was there.” You point ahead. “This way.”

A shot suddenly bounces off the wall next to you. Seems the two men survived the attack. God you hate it when John’s right. You take off running as you find yourself being shot at yet again.

“I have an idea!” John exclaims.

“Will I hate it?”

“Aye.”

“More magic?”

“Of course.”

“Fuck me...do it.”

John pulls you behind a large stone tablet. You switch pistols and fire regular bullets in the direction of the men, making them take refuge around a corner to avoid being shot.

“Oh restless spirits of this tomb,” John says. “I summon thee to protect your pharoah!” The walls vibrate and suddenly John yanks you to the ground as sharp blades fly overhead.

“What the fuck did you do?!” you scream, covering your head.

“Turned on all the tomb’s defenses,” John says.

Arms start to pop up through the ground and more Guardians appear, reaching for you and John.

“How is this better?! HOW?!”

“Never said it would be,” John points out. “Blades are gone. Run!”

The Guardians try to grab you, but you’re quicker and are able to dodge around them.

“There’s another chamber up ahead!” John calls.

Something in your brain immediately sets off alarm bells. “No, not there!” you say, remembering the map. “Take a left!”

But John doesn’t listen. Swearing, you follow him. He immediately comes to a stop, but you are going too fast and crash into his body, sending both of you tumbling down a dark schute. Clinging to each other and screaming bloody murder, you and John slide further into the tomb.

You’re dropped in a circular chamber with a door on either side. Above you, the Guardians are not far behind. John grabs your hand and pulls you into one of the rooms. You both shove the large doors closed and John slides the lock into place before throwing his body against it. The Guardians start to pound on the door. You scramble to find something heavy to put in front of it.

You spot a shipping crate left over from the excavation crew. You manage to push one over and John moves so you can block the door. Panting and safe for the moment, you collapse onto another crate. John sits next to you, only for you to shove him off and onto the ground.

“May have deserved that,” he admits, lying flat on his back. “But to be fair, those blokes wouldn’t have known we were there if you hadn’t fired your weapon.”

“You’re right,” you agree. “Should have let the Guardian take you. Would have made my life much easier.”

John slowly gets to his feet and tries to catch his breath. He’s sweaty and covered in sand, but otherwise looks unhurt. Your leg is throbbing something feirce, but when you check your stitches, they are still intact. The bandage is a little dirty, but not bloody; a small victory. John hobbles over to the closed door on the other side of the chamber. He tries the handle and it doesn’t budge.

“No! No, no, no, no, no,” he repeats, tugging on the door.

Heart sinking, you get to your feet and try to help him. Nothing. The door stays shut. Suddenly the runes on it shimmer, drawing your attention. John reads them and to your surprise, starts to laugh.

“What?” you ask with dread.

“Seems there’s only one way we can generate enough magical energy to open this door,” he answers.

At your questioning look, he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. It takes you a second to realize what he’s getting at.

“Goddamn it,” you swear. “This cannot be happening. Are you sure?”

“Well, we can take our chances with that lot,” John says, motioning to the other door.

You check your pistols and unfortunately, you used some of the bullets trying to keep the men from killing you. “Don’t have enough for all of them,” you say. “Not without using all of them and being left with nothing for the rest of the time we’re down here. How do we know ritual sex won’t summon more of those things?”

“It’s different,” John says. “More...primal. If anything it’ll scare them off.”

“Fine,” you say, shoving John against the door and undoing his belt.

“Eager to get my trousers off are you?” John smirks, hands falling to your waist. He leans in for a kiss, but you avoid his lips.

“Don’t mistake this for more than what it is,” you tell him, worming your hand into his boxers. “I’m jerking you off to open a door. That’s it.”

“I’m afraid it’s gonna take a lot more than that, love,” John says before breaking off into a moan.

“You’ll take the handy and you’ll like it!” you tell him, squeezing tightly and starting a quick rhythm.

“Oh, I most certainly will,” John grunts, hips twitching to meet your hand. “Unfortunately, this will have to be a proper sex ritual.” He leans in close so his lips brush your ear. “I’ll need to be inside you.”

You can’t help the shudder that passes through you. As much as you hate the thought of doing anything that’ll make John smug, if you have to trade sex for a safe way to escape the tomb, you’ll take one for the team. You’ve done a lot more for a lot less. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t been thinking about banging him anyways.

You stop stroking him, earning a soft whine. “What do we need to do then?”

“Give me a second,” John pants, cheeks red and pupils blown wide.

You nod with understanding and remove your hands from his pants. You undo your holsters and carefully place them on the floor next to the nearest crate. A thought occurs to you just then.

“Wait,” you say. “What about protection? No condom, no dice.”

John reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He pulls out a condom, placing it on the crate you had vacated a moment ago.

“I always carry protection of various kinds,” he smirks, putting his wallet back in his pocket. Next he draws a out a switchblade and turns to the door. As he starts to carve, you wander over curiously. “What are you doing?”

“Channeling rune,” John explains. “Sex magic is dangerous. Wouldn’t want the energy to escape or miss the door completely.”

“How dangerous?” you ask with worry.

“Things always get dodgy when messing with energy,” John says. He casts you a sideways glance. “If we’re going to do this, we have to do it right.”

The Guardians banging on the door don’t help you relax. “Fine, I get it,” you say impatiently. “Do what you have to do.”

You step back to give him space and to take a moment to collect yourself. By the time John finishes the carving, you’ve already stripped down to nothing.

“Bollocks!” he swears.

“What’s wrong?”

“Knife slipped,” John says, turning to face you with his finger in his mouth. “Sliced my finger…” He pauses when he sees you’re completely naked, finger dropping from his mouth. “Bloody hell.”

“Relax,” you smirk. “You act like you’ve never seen a naked woman before.”

“I’ve seen my fair share of naked women. A number of men as well,” he says. “Seeing _you_ naked is a whole other experience entirely.”

“No need for flattery, this is a sure thing,” you say, motioning to yourself.

John puts his blade away before reaching to undo his tie. You have no choice but to stand there, watching him slowly and methodically remove his clothing. He drops his tie to the side and starts to unbutton his shirt, his eyes staring into yours as if he’s daring you to look away. You rise to the challenge and keep eye contact the entire time. Even when he’s naked, you don’t break his gaze. Of course, it’s easy since you’ve already seen him naked once today, so your curiosity has already been taken care of.

Now that you’re both nude, he extends his hand to you. You take a deep breath before placing yours in his. Carefully, he pulls you close to him so that your bodies are almost touching, but not quite.

“Clear your mind,” he says in a low voice, hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “And close your eyes.”

You swallow thickly, suddenly at a loss for words. He’s being so serious and calm, it’s a little scary. You take a deep breath and slowly exhale before closing your eyes. He leans in close and you think he’s going to kiss you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he rests his forehead to yours, tightening his arms around you so that your chests are pressed together. His hands come to rest on your hips.

“Don’t listen to the banging on the door, just listen to my voice and focus on your breathing,” John instructs softly. “No one else matters. Not the Guardians, not those wankers upstairs. Just us. Just this room.”

You nod with understanding, tentatively placing your hands on his hips to match his stance.

“Once we start the ritual, the magic will take over,” John tells you. “That’s what I meant when I said it was dangerous. We won’t be able to stop until it’s complete. I need to know right now, are you sure you want to do this with me?”

You open your eyes to find his dark ones already focused on you. He must have been watching you this entire time. You nod again. “Yes, I’m sure.”

A small half-smile makes its way across his lips and he tilts his head a little. “Not exactly how I imagined our first time together,” he admits. “Figured there’d be tequila involved.”

You can’t help but snort with laughter. His small joke does nothing to chase away the nervous feeling that has settled in the pit of your stomach. “Been thinking about fucking me, Constantine?”

“Many times,” John says. “So many times.”

“Well, we’ll discuss that later,” you promise.

“Looking forward to it.”

You’re the one who initiates the kiss. You know his talk is self-serving. He’s hesitant to kiss you after you pulled away earlier. You’re sure the ritual can be done without it, but the truth is, you want to kiss him. Have for a long time. Usually it’s so you can shut him up, but this time it’s purely for your own desperate need to feel those lips against yours. He tastes like stale cigarettes and a hint of blood. Yet somehow, he also tastes sweet, which doesn’t seem like it should be physically possible.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek and he kisses you back tentatively at first, as if he’s giving you another chance to back out. You urge him on with a flick of your tongue and that seems to be all the invitation he needs because then he’s devouring you hungrily. You pull him so your bodies are flush against each other’s.

He takes a step back, guiding you with him until he hits the crate next to the locked door. He sits down, dragging you onto his lap. The sighs and small grunts he’s letting out are already driving you crazy, making you want to hear him scream your name; and the ritual hasn’t even started yet.

John draws back panting, eyes wide and the corners of his mouth turned up into a smirk. He raises his eyebrows questioningly and you nod with encouragement. He clutches you to his chest and whispers an incantation. The hair on your arms stands up as the air around you suddenly pops with unseen energy. The banging on the door grows louder, but you barely hear it over the drumming of your heart. It feels like it wants to leap out of your chest. Intense heat like you’ve never felt before washes over your body from your head all the way to your toes, before it travels back up to settle between your legs. John is looking at you like a starved man and his hands feel like they are scalding your back.

His cock is trapped between your legs and you feel it instantly swell, having still been half-hard from when you stroked him earlier. You readjust so you’re fully straddling his waist and dive in for another kiss. This one is all teeth and tongue as you both become consumed by the magic in the room and your own dormant lust. One of your hands finds its way into his hair, tugging on the soft strands in earnest, while the other rests on the door next to John’s head.

One of his hands slips between your legs and the second his fingers stroke your already slick cunt, you can’t help but moan loudly. John nips and licks his way to your neck, fingers exploring your arousal with urgency.

My god you’ve never felt anything like this before. Sex always felt good to you. But this is a whole other level entirely. You’ve never been this wet from just a bit of kissing and touching.

John slides a finger into you and you immediately buck into his hand with a gasp. His mouth attacks your neck viciously, sucking hard and making you shudder.

“Bloody hell, you’re so wet,” he moans, lips closing around your earlobe and tugging softly. He starts to finger you while his thumb rubs circles around your clit. You can feel his cock on your thigh and this time you want to feel more. You _need_ to feel more.

“Spell?” you ask, unable to form a complete sentence in that moment. Thankfully, he seems to understand the question.

“Not entirely,” he chuckles, peppering kisses along your jaw. “Most of that is purely you, sunshine.”

You grind into his hand, letting out a frustrated moan. “Oh good, we can skip foreplay then,” you manage to say, tightening your grip on his hair so you can direct him into a proper kiss.

He goes to say something, but the response is lost as you plunge your tongue into his mouth. His hand withdraws from between your legs and you start to whimper. He rubs soothing circles on your lower back.

“Just getting the rubber, love,” he coos. “Don’t worry, Johnny’s not going anywhere.”

You force yourself to take a few deep breaths. He examines the condom wrapper to make sure it’s properly sealed before he tears it open. His fingers fumble a little so you help him break the package. Lifting off his lap, you watch him roll the condom on, dropping the wrapper off to the side. God he looks so hard you can’t stand it. He starts to stroke himself, staring up at you with possessive eyes. Between the hormones and magic surging through you, you already feel ready to explode. John holds himself at the base and you scramble back to straddle him, slowly sinking down onto his shaft.

The low moan he lets out is rivaled only to your own. Both his hands slide up your back and come to rest on your shoulders. He tugs you down so you’re fully seated on his lap. It’s like the very breath is stolen from you and John’s mouth latches to your throat again. You lift yourself slightly and drop back down without warning.

John grunts loudly and you do it again and again until you are rising and falling on his cock at a steady pace.

Your hand is still fisting his hair, keeping his head pressed to your throat while his mouth licks, suckles and bites every bit of flesh he can reach. The hand on the wall starts to feel hot and you realize it’s directly on top of the rune he carved. Without warning, the rune flairs and your hand burns. You jerk away with a shout of pain. John grabs your hand and starts to kiss the reddened flesh, one arm now secured around your waist as he continues to fuck you. He sucks your fingers into his mouth, clever tongue swirling around the digits and it suddenly conjures the image of his face buried between your legs. What you wouldn’t give to feel that tongue circling your clit. Another time.

The burning sensation in your hand is forgotten when John hits your g-spot and you cry out, clamping your sweaty thighs around his. Your fingers drop from his mouth so he can kiss you. Your free hand joins your other one in his hair while both John’s hands grip your waist tightly. The air around you is getting hotter and it sounds like electricity is crackling. John’s grunts are borderline animalistic and you realize yours are as well.

You tug his hair in warning, feeling your orgasm building at an alarming rate. It’s too soon. You’re not ready for this to be over yet, but you don’t think you could hold back even if you wanted to. You writhe on his lap, taking him in as deep as you can on each thrust. It’s not enough. You want more. You _need_ more.

“John, John, I can’t come this way…” you whine, mouth still touching his.

“Mmm, wasat, love?” he growls, too blissed out to pay attention.

“I need to come. Johnny, make me come.”

With strength you didn’t even know he possessed, John buries himself to the hilt inside you and lifts you in one fluid motion. Your back is slammed against the door and you cling to him tightly, practically howling as he fucks you against the stone. His hands are clutching your thighs tight enough to bruise and his mouth is leaving bite marks on your neck and shoulder. But the new angle presses him right against your clit and when you finally crest that hill, you dig your nails into his shoulders, throwing your head back and spilling fluid over his cock.

John calls your name a second later, your spasming walls milking his orgasm from him until he’s left shaking wearily and gasping for breath.

There’s a rush of wind as the energy in the room gathers and makes for the rune by your head. You drop your legs and John manages to roll you to the side just as the magic hits its target. You bury your face in his chest and he hides in your hair as a bright light flashes. The next time you peek, everything is dark and still.

“The...door...” you pant.

John’s hand is trembling when he reaches for the handle. The door opens silently and you slump against him with relief.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you manage to say.

John chuckles breathlessly, nodding in agreement. His mouth captures yours and you return the sloppy kiss, too spent and satisfied to really care about anything else for the moment. When he draws away, your eyes meet and it feels like one of you should say something.

You decide to skip anything that would make this complicated and go for, “Guardians aren’t trying to get in anymore.”

John glances over his shoulder and sure enough, the other door is no longer rattling. Everything is eerily silent. You are still leaning on John for support so he drags you both down onto the crate. His body is shaking just as bad as yours is as he sits. He removes the condom, tying it off and absentmindedly shoving it back into its broken wrapper before he pulls you onto his lap. When his arms come around you, you really don’t mind. In fact, you cling to him until the shaking stops. Only then do you speak again.

“We should, um, probably move on,” you say in a soft voice. John makes a noise of agreement, but doesn’t try to stand. After another couple of seconds, you decide to end the moment and slowly get to your feet.

John catches your hand, forcing you to look at him. You get the feeling he has something important he wants to say, but he just sighs heavily and kisses the back of your hand. You give him a small smile and break all contact so you can retrieve your clothes. He heaves himself to his feet and begins to dress.

Neither of you say anything as you turn away from each other, putting yourselves back together. You expect John to gloat or tease you, but he does neither. The silence is broken by the click of his lighter and the sound of his cigarette catching. When you turn around, John’s fully clothed, hands in his pockets as he stands in the open doorway.

“Any idea where this leads?” he asks.

“Vaguely,” you say, crossing to stand next to him while you secure your holsters. “We’re further away from the burial chamber, but this whole place is connected so we should be able to get back.”

John nods, taking a drag and reaching for a torch on the wall. He uses the lighter on it, casting the area around you in a soft glow. “Come on then,” he says, shooting you a cheeky grin. “Unless you want to close the door and go for round two.”

Just like that, the awkwardness is gone. “See, this is why I didn’t want to bang you,” you tell him, hurrying your steps to keep up. “You were insufferable before. Now you’re going to be worse.”

“You’re just upset I made you moan and whine,” John teases.

You scoff. “I did NOT whine!”

John removes his cigarette so he can laugh. “Hate to burst your bubble, love, but you did,” he says.

“Well, so did you!”

“‘Course I did. You started jacking me real good then stopped abruptly,” John says. “You can kill a man that way.” He pauses for a second before adding, “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to shag you?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Maybe later,” John winks, dropping the remains of his cigarette. “For now, let’s focus on getting that dagger, yeah?”

“By the way, you’re not as slick as you think you are,” you add, purposely speeding up.

As you expect, he copies your pace. “What do you mean?”

“Sex magic could have been avoided,” you say. “But, you obviously knew that as soon as you looked at the door.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” John denies.

You roll your eyes. “‘Oh, I accidentally cut my finger and just happen to get blood on the magically locked door!’” you mock. “Did you really think I would fall for that? Admit it; the door was open before you even touched me.”

A large smile forms on John’s face. “So you knew and still went through with the ritual? Naughty girl.”

You shrug. “Well, for one it sent the Guardians packing,” you say. “And two, figured if you were that desperate to fuck me, it was weirdly sweet. Not like I never considered it myself.”

“When? Where? How?” John questions.

You laugh. “Nope, not playing this game right now. Let’s get the dagger and get out. I’m starting to get claustrophobic.”

The impromptu detour ends up adding another hour to your search. Thankfully, you and John are able to easily navigate any traps you come across, without magic. Also, your ritual has seemed to have scared the Guardians for the time being. When you finally get to the main chamber, you’re exhausted, thirsty and starving. The burial chamber is large and lined with vast riches. It makes your heart pound just seeing it all. Too bad you can’t bring everything with you.

“Don’t touch anything,” you warn John. “Who knows what traps are lurking.”

“Can fix that,” John says. “That is, if you’re alright with another spell.” It’s framed in a joking manner, but you know he’s being serious.

At this point, you’re too tired to argue. You still have some bullets if need be so you nod and motion for John to do his thing. He hands you the torch and then clears his throat, shaking out his arms and shoulders. You hold back a snicker when he dramatically waves his arms and flicks his wrists to center himself. He says a spell in some language you’ve never heard before and several loud clicks sound throughout the room as various traps disarm themselves. No Guardians appear so you allow yourself to relax.

“There. All better.” John looks so smug with himself.

You shake your head and walk towards the pedestal with the dagger. “Can’t believe I let you inside me.”

“That you did,” John says with a hint of pride. “I think you’re bitter because you _liked_ it.”

“How do you know I wasn’t faking?” you tease.

“I have a sticky lap that proves otherwise.”

You wrinkle your nose and make a noise of disgust. “You’re gross.”

“Not wrong though.”

The dagger is caked with dust so draw a handkerchief out of your pocket. You hand the torch back to John so you can carefully wrap the gold weapon in the cloth.

“Perfect,” you say, slowly lifting it off the stand. “Now, there should be an escape tunnel just over--”

The ground shakes and suddenly the walls start cracking and breaking. It seems no amount of primal magic can keep the Guardians from protecting the dagger.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” you snap. “The escape tunnel is this way!”

Holding the dagger in one hand, you seize John’s arm and pull him in the direction of the one exit that will take you right to the surface. It’s a tight fit, but you’re able to squeeze through. However, when you look behind you, John is still in the chamber.

“Constantine! Are you fucking waiting for an invitation? What the shit?”

“Someone has to hold them off,” John says, holding the torch out in front of him. “Go! I’ll catch up!”

Grumbling, you step back out of the tunnel. “I’m not leaving you, asshole!”

His arm comes around your waist and he pulls you close so he can kiss you. You get lost in the feeling instantly, making you miss when he pulls one of your pistols out of its holster. When he draws back, he holds the gun up with a grin.

“Don’t go soft on me now, sunshine,” he winks. “I’ll be fine.”

“UGH, I hate you so much!”

“You know, when you say hate, I’m starting to think you mean something else,” John says, firing at the Guardians and taking out at least three.

“You wish!”

“We’ll argue over drinks,” John says. “Now, go!”

You swear, but have no choice. With one more look at him over your shoulder, you start your ascent through the exit tunnel. Without the torch it’s impossible to see the path in front of you. From what you can feel, the escape route is steep. You tuck the dagger into your empty holster and keep moving forward, climbing as fast as you can. The sounds of gunshots and the Guardians gets further and further away, and eventually stops. As you keep climbing, the tunnel eventually grows wider.

After some time, you can see faint light up ahead and the air starts to grow cooler. Finally, you crawl out of a small cave, lungs on fire and arms ready to give out. Your wounded leg is practically useless, numb from the pain. When you get your bearings, you realize you’re actually pretty far from the entrance to the tomb, but not too far from where you parked your rental. Instead of heading for the vehicle, you lay on your side trying to catch your breath and praying desperately that John will show soon.

You don’t know how long you lay there. It seems like hours, but you refuse to move in case he’s injured and needs your help. If he doesn’t show soon, you might have to go back for him.

Finally, you see a dark figure crawling towards you and when the clouds shift and the moonlight catches John’s blond hair, you can’t help but sigh with relief. His eyes meet yours and he looks relieved as well. You help pull him out of the cave and into a tight hug. In his left hand you realize he’s clutching a cloth sack and your anger reappears.

“Asshole!” you snap, punching him in the shoulder.

“Oy! Easy!” John pants, slumping against you again. “Bloody knackered. Come, give us a kiss.” He puckers his lips.

“Fuck you!” you shove him off and struggle to stand. “You used me, you sack of shit! You didn’t even care about the dagger!”

“On the contrary. The dagger was secondary,” John says, reaching for you to help him up. You purposely knock his hand to the side and stumble towards the car. John swears and struggles to his feet as he attempts to follow you.

Back at the rental, you pop the trunk and unload your guns and the dagger. You seize a bottle of water and open it, downing almost all of it in one go. John comes to stand next to you, placing the sack down and opening it so you can see what he was truly after. Along with a good chunk of gold coins, there is a small and ancient looking book inside.

Snorting with disbelief, you hand him the rest of the water. “You fucked over those men, didn’t you?”

John flashes you a smile, taking the drink. “Lads shouldn’t play poker with me,” he says. “Their fault really. Mind you, I don’t know how they found out about you. Must have dug into my past jobs or somethin’.” He chugs the remaining water and tosses the empty bottle next to the loot.

“You owe me for the bullet wound,” you say, closing the trunk.

“Fair enough,” John says, following you around to the side of the car. “However will I make it up to you?”

Smirking, you open the door to the backseat. “I can think of a way.”

The grin on John’s face is probably the largest you’ve ever seen as you grab his tie and pull him into the car with you. “One magical shag and you’re already hankering for some more Johnny.”

“God I hate you.” This time, your lips twitch up into a small smirk.

John laughs, slamming the door behind him. “Hate you too, sunshine,” he says, bracketing your hips with his knees. “Hate you too.”

 


End file.
